


knit together

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Getting Together, Knitting, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: Just an October reminder: Vampires don't mind the cold weather, so remind them to wear jackets when they go out at night so they'll blend in better with the local populace.Or: Shiro's a knitter. Keith is knitworthy.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 140





	knit together

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a fill for one of the prompts in [this thread](https://twitter.com/boggremlin/status/1315735747513724929).

Shiro has frequented the Holt siblings’ yarn shop for years. He’s not an accomplished knitter, but it’s a hobby he picked up after he started using a prosthetic — his occupational therapist recommended it as a way to build his comfort with his new, mechanical fingers, and the habit is soothing. 

Shiro enjoys being, well, mediocre at something. He buys himself nice yarn, even though the limit of his expertise is 1) scarves and 2) hats, if Pidge takes the time to help him bind off. He hates decreasing on double-points. 

He’s knitting by the shop’s big picture window, sitting before the fake fire Matt keeps by the sofas when it starts to get cold out, when he sees Keith walking past.

Keith’s an odd duck. Shiro knows him peripherally, because Keith used to take flying lessons at the airfield Shiro’s based out of. No one knows why Keith stopped flying, just that it was a shame and he shouldn’t have quit; but it was probably money. 

Anyway, Keith’s moving down the street, looking too-thin and dressed badly for the weather. It’s gone fall and the sky has been threatening to deposit the season’s first batch of “wintry mix,” which is Shiro’s least favorite type of weather to ever exist on this green earth. He would prefer an actual sharknado. 

It’s been a long time since Shiro had any kind of authority over Keith, but that doesn’t stop him from leaping up, carefully setting down his project, and running to throw open the shop door before Keith can quite pass by. 

“Get in here,” Shiro barks, and he’s still got it: the tone of command is a skill that’s hard to lose. Keith flinches to a halt and turns curiously, hesitating, until Shiro straddles the doorway and beckons him in.

“Come inside,” Shiro says. “You’re going to catch your death.”

This is, for some reason, funny, but Keith obeys. 

Shiro makes Keith stand in front of the fake fire (it’s a space heater, he’s not being  _ completely _ ridiculous) while he digs through his project bag, emerging with a vast multicolored wrap done entirely in seed stitch. It’s knit in merino wool and 8-ply cashmere, and Shiro meant it to be a gift for the great-aunt who took him to his first childhood flight lessons. He hasn’t blocked it yet, but the finished piece is still impressive and lush; Shiro bundles Keith’s narrow shoulders in all 80 inches of it. 

“It's beautiful,” Keith says from the depths of the wrap. It frames his pale face in a fuzzy halo; Shiro carefully adjusts the fabric so it covers Keith’s faintly-pointed ears. This close, Shiro can see how the snow has melted in Keith’s eyelashes; he’s still shaking, even though Shiro’s invited him into the warmth, “but I can’t accept this.”

There’s no way Shiro is taking it back. He can knit another — he can knit something else. 

“Nonsense,” he says crisply. “I’d be insulted if you did. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” And he gathers up his knitting bag and herds Keith back out into the grim weather, using his bulk to block some of the wind. 

Keith seems more befuddled by the interaction than he really ought to — Shiro was only doing what was decent, and the wrap looks so  _ nice _ on Keith. The soft texture and knobby segues from green and grey and magenta to cream are awfully flattering. 

“You don’t understand,” Keith says, after doing something ridiculous like offering to pay for the materials — he must not understand what a  _ gift _ is. “I don’t get cold, not really.”

This is true — by the third hat Shiro’s knit for him (he’s learning fair isle patterns for this project; Matt and Pidge have been watching the events unfurl with expressions of shocked bemusement and also glee, because it means more yarn sales), Keith’s dropped so many hints that it’s obvious he’s at least part-vampire. That’s not particularly scandalous, Shiro tells him, mentioning that the pastry chef at the nearest Michelin-starred restaurant turns to stone with every sunrise. Shiro’s a pilot; his ship has the same improbable structure of a bumblebee’s wing. Shiro’s own arm is powered by a solution of fractionated moonlight and the heart of a fallen star.

“So you know that I don’t need any of these things,” Keith says. 

“But don’t you like them?”

“Well, yeah — ”

“Then if I want to give them to you, the polite thing to do is accept,” Shiro says. “I thought vampires were polite by nature. You have to be invited everywhere.” 

“That’s not quite how it works,” Keith says, but Shiro doesn’t pay him any mind. This is the eighth time Shiro has invited him to stay the night, and here Keith is, staying the night. 

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” Keith asks. It’s not quite fair of him to ask that question, not when he’s sprawled across Shiro’s chest and Shiro’s still a little woozy and bite-drunk. Keith doesn’t drink from him often — mostly on special occasions. Tonight Shiro finally finished turning the heel on the second sock in the pair of house slippers he’s knitting. He hates it when Keith wears his shoes indoors. 

“Should I be?” Shiro asks. Keith doesn’t feel cold at all, and after feeding, he even throws off a bit of warmth of his own. 

“I could kill you,” Keith says. The fatalism is somewhat ruined by the way he cuddles closer. 

“I’ll die of something,” Shiro points out. “If you’re picking, at least try to make it exciting. I hear skydiving is fun, but why someone would want to hurtle through space without benefit of landing gear is beyond me.”

“Don't joke about that,” Keith says crossly, which is silly, since he's the one who brought it up.

“As you wish,” Shiro tells him.

* * *

Anyway: Shiro refuses to believe that Keith is anything but knitworthy. Keith capitulates — Shiro is an irresistible force — and agrees to model the output of scarves and hats and fingerless gloves for the Holts’ store newsletter. 

“If this keeps up,” Matt says, “you could open an Etsy shop. We'd be your exclusive suppliers, of course. Good for business. I bet Pidge would make a special dwelt for you.”

Pidge, who has to draw Keith back into each image for the newsletter — it’s true, vampires don’t show up on film — lets out a cry of despair. The thought of the inventory is too much to take. 


End file.
